River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(64)

He was minutes behind Becca. He slowed as he approached her father’s house, pulled over. She was getting out of her Jeep. He was reacting on pure adrenaline, gut instinct that she was the witness he needed to prove that the police report Toby had given him claiming John had spent the night in jail was crap. He didn’t allow his thoughts to go beyond that, refusing to think about what she’d admitted about her pretty boyfriend. There would be time for that later.

“Hey,” he called to her.

She shook her head, waved him away as she raced inside the house.

He smacked the steering wheel. Why had she waited so long to tell him what she’d seen by the river? What else was she hiding? He stared at the house, contemplated going in after her. But then he thought about the look on her face when she’d gotten the phone call to come home. He couldn’t just barge in, make demands when it appeared her father was close to the end.

He pulled back onto the road, and in another mile, he reached the farmhouse and parked on the gravel driveway. He hesitated after putting the car in park. He should’ve had another detective riding along with him. He should’ve called Bill. But if his sergeant found out that Parker was personally involved with a potential witness, he’d take him off the case. And Parker couldn’t allow that to happen. Call it pride or whatever, but he wanted to be the guy who put a Scion behind bars. The kid in him yearned for the satisfaction of finally being able to tell his father that he’d gotten one of them. It had been the real reason Parker had become a cop in the first place, had transferred to the field station with the hope that one day he’d be able to remove the fear of the Scions from his father’s face.

He got out of the car. There was a single motorcycle parked outside the barn, but otherwise the place looked deserted.

Parker knocked on the screen door and peeked in. He didn’t hear any movement inside. From his position on the porch, he could see into the living room, the worn plaid furniture, an old TV. The place looked tidy, nothing out of the ordinary.

He knocked again, harder this time. When he didn’t get an answer, he made his way to the barn, pausing next to the motorcycle. The engine felt cool. The keys weren’t in the ignition. The large barn doors were thrown open. He stood off to the side, looked in. Several hay bales were stacked along the far wall. To his right sat an old wooden stool, and in front of it, a workbench. A greasy towel rested on top. Tire tracks from one or more motorcycles covered the dirt floor along with boot prints. He spied a rifle leaning against the inside door to his left. His pulse spiked. Easy. Its barrel was small, probably a .22, and they were as common as kitchen spoons in these parts. Besides, they’d found the .30-06 that had been used in the crime. There was no sign of a hunting knife lying out in the open. He didn’t see anything that would allow him to get a search warrant to search the property. A breeze rustled the leaves.

Walking around the side of the building, he came upon a fire pit, smelled the scent of burning leaves. He got closer, looked at the ashes, the blackened stone. A bird took off from one of the nearby trees. He jumped. Shit. His heart thrashed against his sternum.

He continued around the barn, alert to every sound, every movement, the groundhog peeking through the tall grass, the squirrels darting between the trees, the cackling crows overhead. But other than the animals and birds, he was alone, and wherever John Jackson was, it wasn’t here.



Parker had forgotten about the pumpkins in the trunk of the car. He was pacing in his living room, planning to return to John’s farmhouse once he’d had a chance to talk with Becca again. He was still mulling over what she’d seen at the river. He’d tried not to think about her confession about her boyfriend this entire time. But now that he was home, there it was. Her cheating boyfriend. He ran his hands through his hair and down his face, wondering what the hell he was supposed to make of that. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. But she couldn’t possibly stay with the guy, not after what she’d admitted about him. Could she? Was she so in love with the jerk she’d simply overlook his betrayal? Was it true girls picked men like their fathers?

He dropped onto his favorite chair, knocking into the stack of fishing magazines piled on the floor by his feet. Several of them toppled over onto the area rug. He didn’t bother picking them up. The truth was, he didn’t know what Becca would do. The Becca he thought he knew would never have put up with that kind of bullshit.

He tried calling her. Twice. He had more questions for her obviously, but he also wanted to know if her father was okay, how he was holding up. He left two messages with Jackie. All he could do now was wait for Becca to call him back.

His cell phone went off. He recognized the number from the lab.

“Working overtime again?” he asked.

“You know me. I can’t stay away from this place,” Mara said. “We’ve got a partial print.”

He pictured her bushy hair, her white lab coat, her sitting in front of a microscope looking at the killer’s fingerprint. The image reminded him of every crime show he’d ever seen on TV. In fact, he’d only ever been inside the forensic lab a handful of times since his promotion.

She continued. “There were a couple of rounds in the clip. I lifted a partial print off one of the casings. My guess is that the magazine must’ve protected the print from the friction of the water current. It’s not the best, mind you, but I’d say we got lucky finding this one at all.”